Dance of Deception

Chapter 11

11

LYRA

The Barone estate is even more ridiculous than I remember.

It was excessive enough when I first stepped into it at the audition. But now, with the entire house lit by chandeliers and filled with the buzz of very powerful people, it feels…otherworldly.

Like I’ve somehow stepped into a different reality.

Cosplaying someone else’s life.

The limo pulls up to the grand entrance across from Central Park. Even before the car fully stops, I can already see the other arrivals: men in custom tailored suits, women wrapped in designer gowns that probably cost more than a year's rent for me.

A flask clinks softly beside me.

I close my eyes for a second, inhaling. “Mom…”

“ Relax ,” Vera drawls, tucking the flask back into her clutch. “I’m not drunk.”

That’s…clearly false. But I don’t have the bandwidth to deal with my mother or her bullshit tonight. She’s only here at all because earlier, when Carmine called to tell me—not ask—about the limo, he also told me Vera would be coming, too.

Again, told , not asked.

“I don’t think bringing her is a good idea,” I’d said carefully.

“I didn't ask for your opinion,” he'd replied.

So, you know, married life with that psycho is going to be just super .

But for the millionth time, I remind myself of the reasons I’m doing this. Well, the biggest reason I’m still doing this, namely, that “no” doesn’t appear to be in Carmine’s lexicon, and that he doesn’t seem interested in the slightest in calling it off.

Every second that passes since I had the brilliant idea to threaten Carmine only makes me wonder what the actual fuck I was thinking there.

He’s a mad dog. And mad dogs only do one thing when you back them into a corner.

They bite .

I glance down, chewing on my lip and fussing with the gown I borrowed from Milena. It’s not like my closet is flush with options for a swanky, black-tie mafia event.

Otherwise known as my engagement party.

“You look fine,” Vera sighs, like it’s an inconvenience to compliment me. “A little plain. But fine.”

My eyes swivel to her as we wait for the driver to walk around to open the door for us outside the Barone mansion. “Gee, thanks.”

She smirks. “Don’t be so sensitive , Lyra. I mean, if it was me, I’d have gone for something sexier. He’s a man, after all, not a priest.”

“He’s already marrying me, Mother,” I mutter, pulling at the plunging cleavage of Milena’s muted champagne-colored silk gown.

The driver opens the door and extends a hand to help me out. I swallow heavily as I pause on the sidewalk, glancing up at the mansion that looks ready to swallow me whole.

I’m shaken out of my reverie as Vera steps out of the limo next to me

“Fuck me sideways, these people are loaded, ” she mutters, staring up at the house. An eager grin spreads across her smudged dark lipstick as she turns to me. “You did good, sweetie. You’re marrying us into some serious dough.”

Vera Barnova, everyone. Dripping with class, obviously.

That’s all she cares about. Not that I’m about to legally bind myself to a very dangerous man. Or that my life is about to change forever.

Just the money.

There’s a chance my mother doesn’t actually know about the million dollars involved in this sordid affair. And by “a” chance I mean a "one hundred percent" chance.

I never told her.

I’m not blind. I know I care too much about a woman who doesn’t really return the sentiment. I also know there’s a chance that the second Vera got her hands on any real money, she’d either disappear, drink herself to death, gamble it all away—or, in all likelihood, all three.

The other reason I haven’t brought it up, though, is that I don’t actually know where I stand with the money.

Carmine didn’t mention it the other night at the theater, and it’s not like we’ve talked much since.

I was going to use it to pay back Popov, but apparently, that debt has now been settled—somehow.

Judging by the blood on my necklace when Carmine handed it back to me, I can make an educated guess how that shook out.

So where does that leave me now? That million-dollar carrot was the only reason I agreed to this insanity in the first place. Now that Carmine has decided he owns me, that I’m going to be his wife whether I like it or not…

Does that deal still stand?

We make our way up the stairs, past the guards, through the grand double doors?—

And I’m suddenly drowning in a world I do not belong in.

I wasn’t paying much attention to the house when I was here a few days ago. I was too numb and nervous about the insanity I was about to pull. But now that I’m back, I can legit feel my jaw dropping as my eyes drink in the splendor of the mansion.

It's stunning .

Vaulted ceilings with hand-painted frescoes, crystal chandeliers, gilded mirrors reflecting the golden light, making the space feel endless.

The hum of conversation and classical music surrounds us, while discreet waitstaff quietly weave through the crowd with trays of canapés and flutes of champagne.

This is power.

I feel its weight pressing in on me, wrapping around my throat like invisible hands. I don’t know where to stand, where to look. I'm sure everyone can tell I don’t belong here.

Vera, of course, wastes no time getting comfortable.

As soon as we step deeper into the party, she plucks a flute of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray with the ease of someone who’s spent her whole life coasting on other people’s wealth.

She takes a slow, meditative sip, her heavily painted lips curling around the rim of the glass as she sweeps her gaze over the room like she belongs here.

Like she was always meant for a place like this.

Her eyes flick to me, and she smirks. “You look like you’re waiting for security to throw you out.”

Before I can reply, a hand slides around my waist, pulling me against a firm, hard body.

“She’s just taking it all in.”

My gaze snaps to Carmine’s crystal blue eyes, carving right into mine.

A cold shiver ripples down my spine.

Some men are dangerous and look it. Carmine is the sort of man who doesn’t , and that makes him even more deadly.

My father was the same. Everyone always said how handsome he was—classically good looking, charming, easily approachable. That’s exactly what made him such a villain. It’s how he was able to reel those girls in and trap them.

Destroy them.

Now, I’m looking up at the same sort of monster.

Objectively, Carmine is gorgeous . Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes that shine just a little too brightly.

It’s not just his looks, though.

It’s the way he wears them.

The easy smile, the effortless charm—the smooth, rich voice that settles into your bones before you even realize you’re listening. He’s built to disarm, to break down walls before you even know you’ve let him in.

That’s what makes him so fucking lethal.

The rest of them see a mafia prince. The Barone heir. A man to be feared, respected, obeyed.

They don’t see the venom flowing in his veins, the monster hiding behind those sharp smiles and custom suits.

But I have.

“Isn’t that right, fiancée ,” he murmurs, his voice silkily dangerous. Before I can respond, his gaze slides back to my mother.

Instantly, I feel ice slip down my spine when his eyes grow a little colder.

“Mrs. Ostrova, that party silverware is yours to keep. But if I see you putting anything else from my home into your purse, it’s not security I’ll be calling.”

Holy. Shit .

I slowly turn, my mouth open as I see shock and indignation spread over Vera’s face.

“I beg your pard?—”

“ Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Ostrova. Enjoy the evening.”

Without another word, Carmine’s hand tightens on my hip, marching us away through the crowd. It’s not until we get to the bar that I somehow remember how to move and attempt to pull back from him.

Carmine’s hand doesn’t budge. Not a single part of him does, like he’s suddenly turned to marble, keeping me pinned to his side for all of eternity.

“Can you please let go ,” I mutter under my breath as he orders two flutes of champagne from the bartender.

“No.”

No explanation. Just a flat no .

I struggle for another few seconds as he casually sips his champagne and drags his gaze around the room, completely indifferent to my efforts. Finally, I give up.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“Back there, with my mom.” My brow furrows. “I mean, ever heard of first impressions?”

“I have. I find them overrated. Also, caring about first impressions suggests you care at all about the person you’re having that first impression with.”

I frown. “Not really. It means you care about their impression of you…”

I trail off when I realize where this is going.

“Are you suggesting I should give a fuck what your embarrassment of a mother thinks of me?”

My brows shoot up as my jaw drops. “Really?”

“What—is she standing right here?”

I stare at him.

“No,” he continues, looking at me plainly. “So why are you still continuing with this charade, pretending she’s anything but a hindrance to you?”

Jesus, seriously?

“You realize this is a person we’re talking about, right? Look, she’s…a lot. But she’s also my mom .”

He shrugs easily. “It's rarely that complicated. Life becomes much simpler when you stop trying to tell yourself people are anything more than what they show you.”

My brow furrows. “Are you always this robotic when it comes to people?”

Carmine sips his champagne, his eyes locked on mine over the rim of his flute. “Only when they’re not worth being anything but robotic with.”

“ Not worth it because of who they are? Or because they can’t do anything for you, or have anything you need?”

His brows arch. “I’m not sure this is an either-or type of conversation where that woman is concerned.”

I smile wryly, looking down at my flute.

“She’s…”

I take a slow breath before I shrug and glance back up at him.

“At the end of the day, she’s my mother.”

“In which case, you have my congratulations for having achieved what you have in spite of that.”

A curious smile twists my lips.

Eventually, Carmine actually does remove his hand from my hip, when he’s pulled away by Cesare Marchetti, head of the Marchetti family, and the young, more than slightly lethal-looking Nero De Luca, the young and relatively new head of the De Luca organization. Both these men sit with Vito Barone—well, Carmine now, I suppose—on The Commission; a sort of high council of the five most powerful Italian mafia families in the country.

Yeah, I’m not just marrying into a mafia family.

I’m marrying into one of the mafia families.

I linger awkwardly by the bar, forcing fake smiles to my face whenever various party guests come to fawn over me, or perhaps ogle me like I’m some circus freak that doesn’t belong here.

“She’s Arkadi Ostrov’s daughter, you know.”

“Those poor girls in the basement…”

“You remember the stories in the news, don’t you?”

By the time I’ve heard the thirtieth variation of who I am whispered with furtive glances behind secretive hands, I’m ready to ditch this whole thing and make a break for it, consequences be damned.

Just as I’m scanning for the nearest exit, I lock eyes with Bianca. She’s standing next to her giant of a husband, Kratos Drakos, who's wearing a tuxedo that looks like it was tailored for a mythological demi-god.

We haven’t spoken since the audition.

She hasn’t answered my calls or returned my texts. She may as well have erected steel walls between us at work.

I hate it.

I hate what she might think of me now. I hate that she must assume that I decided to cash in our friendship for a shot at her brother’s money, like some gold-digging opportunist.

For a second, as our gazes clash, it looks like she’s going to walk away. But then Kratos leans down, putting his large hand on the small of her back and murmuring in her ear. He nods his chin in my direction before he kisses the top of her head and moves off into the crowd.

Bianca looks back at me, takes a deep breath, and then starts to walk over.

My stomach tightens as she comes to a stop in front of me, a caged expression on her face.

I force a small smile. “Bianca?—”

“You didn’t tell me,” she interrupts, her voice cold. “I just thought…I mean, we’re friends… You sort of blindsided me with this.”

My throat goes tight.

“I—” I shake my head, words failing. “I didn’t think I'd go through with it.”

Her brow furrows.

I exhale sharply, barreling forward.

“I needed the money,” I admit, my voice low. “It was urgent, and I felt desperate.”

She frowns in concern, sucking her lower lip between her teeth and stepping closer to me.

“Lyra, you could’ve just…”

Her mouth twists before she can finish that sentence.

She knows me well enough to know that no , I couldn’t “just ask” to borrow the money from her. I’m not wired that way.

“Look, after that whole audition thing, I swear, I wasn’t going to go through with it,” I blurt. “I was sure I was done, but then?—”

My mouth clamps shut.

Then he told me in no uncertain terms that I was HIS.

Bianca shakes her head. “I’m just worried about why he picked you .” Her eyes snap quickly to mine. “That came out wrong. I mean, he…” Her throat bobs. “Look, Lyra, I love my brother. It’s just that Carmine…” she swallows again. “He’s…more than people think.”

A cold feeling drags its claws down my spine.

“Please, please , don’t take this the wrong way,” she says quietly. “But with his pick of half the mafia princesses in the city, all from hugely important, powerful families… I’m worried why he would choose you .”

Well, Bianca, that would be because I threatened him with my knowledge of whatever deranged game he and a few other masked psychos play in an underground cathedral with a maze.

She takes a slow breath, her eyes lifting to mine. “Look, you’re the human psychology student. Carmine is…different. Not always, and he’s very good at hiding it away. But… It’s there. And as much as I love him? He scares me sometimes.”

Her throat works again as she takes one of my hands in hers.

“Lyra,” she says quietly. “I’m not mad at you for marrying my brother. I’m terrified for you.”

Bianca’s words have my stomach in knots as I scan the party.

I finally spot him, weaving away from the crowd, his presence rippling through the sea of guests.

Now’s my chance.

I slip through the gathering, quickly but carefully following him out of the ballroom, down one of the grand hallways lined with gilded mirrors and framed classical art.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m worried why he would choose you.”

“I’m not mad at you for marrying my brother. I’m terrified for you.”

I should leave it alone, but I can’t.

I need to know about the money.

The million dollars means this is a transaction. Compensation for goods and services rendered. It means we have an arrangement.

If there is no money, then I’m just his .

And that scares the fuck out of me.

I spot him just ahead, slipping down another hallway. I quicken my pace, my heels clicking on the polished marble as I round a corner?—

I barely have time to gasp as a hand clamps around my wrist, yanking me into the dark. Then a door slams shut, the lock clicking menacingly into place.

Candles flicker on the marble sink, casting golden light across the dark tiles of a massive guest bathroom. Carmine’s lethally hard body is pure heat and dominance, his strong hands on my hips, caging me against the wall.

The panic that spikes in my chest as my breath shudders out of me is tangled with something else I don’t want to name.

His hands move, trailing up my sides, over my ribs, along the silk of my dress. Reminding me that I’m exactly where he wants me.

Taking his time, savoring the control.

I shiver as his fingers skim just beneath my breasts, barely grazing the delicate fabric, setting every nerve ending in my body ablaze.

My pulse pounds violently.

“Carmine—”

“What are you doing, little dancer?” His voice is low, edged with amusement, but with darkness curling beneath it.

I shudder. “I—I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

His hands don’t stop moving. One slides higher, fingers brushing the thin straps of my gown, teasing the bare skin of my collarbone. It’s unfair how he’s scarcely touching me, barely pressing, yet every single nerve in my body reacts.

I force myself to focus and clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady.

“About the money.”

Carmine’s eyes flicker. His lips curve into a dark grin.

“What money?”

“The—”

I flinch, gasping sharply as he slips his fingers under the strap of my gown and peels it down off my shoulder. My body shudders as he moves to the other strap, and I try to stop him.

Laughable.

With zero effort at all, in a millisecond, he’s pinned my hands behind my back, held in his iron grip. His body presses me harder to the wall, imprisoning me between him and it.

When he reaches for the other strap, I still squirm and fight. But there’s no space to resist. My heart rate spikes as he slips his fingers under the other strap, peeling it down my shoulder until the entire top of my gown hangs dangerously on the small slopes of my breasts, nothing but my pebbled nipples keeping it from baring everything.

“You were saying?” he purrs darkly.

I shiver, my throat bobbing.

“The…the million dollars.”

He chuckles, like the question amuses him.

“Ah,” he murmurs. “ That money.”

I stare at him. Waiting.

He leans in, voice dropping just enough to make my skin prickle.

“Popov was going to kill you,” he murmurs. “Or worse. And, spoiler, that was going to happen whether you got him the money or not .”

I swallow hard.

“But now,” Carmine continues, “that isn’t going to happen.”

I stiffen as his fingers idly trace a slow path across my collarbone before starting to trickle down the skin between my breasts. A heated throb pulses in my core as his fingertip hooks into the fabric of my gown.

“Okay, but what does that mean?—”

He tugs with his finger, swiftly pulling the top of my gown off my chest. I gasp sharply as the cool air hits my bare breasts, teasing against my nipples. My arms strain as I try and pull my hands free to cover myself.

That isn’t happening.

All I can do is struggle helplessly as his cold blue eyes drop to my nudity.

I’m no prude. And I’m not bothered by nakedness. I mean, I’ve spent most of my life changing in crowded dressing rooms, theater wings, backstage, and much less private places surrounded by dancers, directors, stagehands, and who even knows else.

But there’s something so… eviscerating about the way he's looking at me. Like he’s flaying open my skin and revealing every single hidden thought and insecurity I’ve ever had, all at once.

I try again to pull my wrists free of his grip. I might as well try to move a mountain.

“What that means, little dancer,” he growls quietly. “Is?—”

“Let me go— ahh! ”

My eyes bulge when in one casual motion he reaches up with his free hand and roughly pinches my left nipple, twisting it sharply in his fingertips. Something raw and primal erupts inside of me, the pinching pain of his merciless touch swirling with the dangerously, illicitly exciting.

“ Do not interrupt me,” he murmurs.

His fingers are still tight around my nipple, sending bolt after bolt of throbbing heat teasing through my nerves. He rolls the aching bud between his fingers, wrenching a whimper from my lips.

The second it falls from my mouth, I want to melt into a puddle and disappear through a crack in the floor.

Carmine’s eyes spark with something malicious and hungry as he latches onto the sound, like a vampire.

He smiles.

Darkly. Knowingly.

I squirm as he reaches for my other breast, his fingers tightening slightly, rolling that nipple before releasing it—but the damage is already done.

My entire body is buzzing traitorously, still aching where he touched me.

Then, his voice cuts through the haze.

“You have this bad habit of thinking you get to set the terms, little dancer,” he murmurs, his tone smooth, mocking.

He leans in, his lips merely a breath away from my ear.

“Popov thought the same thing.”

He waits, letting the words settle, allowing me to connect the dots.

I shudder.

“Did you—” My voice falters. I clear my throat, forcing the words out. “Did you kill him?”

Carmine’s smirk deepens.

There’s no guilt in his expression. No hesitation.

His hand slips from my breasts and slowly moves to my ribs, letting his fingertips press into each little ridge and indentation as he skims lower to my hip, making my breath catch.

“My secret weapon,” he murmurs, “is that it’s not hard for me to do what I need to do. To get what I want. To protect my interests, and what’s mine .”

A heated shiver ripples through my core as his hand tightens on my wrists behind my back. The other one pushes lower over my hip, teasing further and further before suddenly, his fingers are slipping into the high slit of the borrowed gown.

My eyes fly wide as he suddenly pulls the dress open, his hand boldly sliding under the silk and against my inner thigh.

“ Carmine …”

I throb with embarrassment as his name tumbles needy and desperate from my lips.

His hand moves again, sliding higher until his fingertips brush against the delicate lace of my panties.

I freeze.

His fingers stroke just once, his touch featherlight, his other hand tightening around my wrists and pinning me in place as he teases over my most intimate area like he’s already conquered all of me.

“I simply don’t need to worry about right and wrong. Good or bad.”

A slow shiver ripples through me.

“And to answer your question…” he growls, his lips hovering near my ear, making my knees go weak.

“There is no money.”

I balk.

“But—but there was supposed to be?—”

His fingers press. A needy, desperate sound chokes in my throat as the pads of his fingers stroke my pussy lips through the lace. He does it again, a soft touch that has my breath catching and my stomach twisting in ways I don’t want to think about.

“A million,” I breathe.

Carmine smiles viciously.

“You weren’t supposed to be at that audition,” he mutters. “And do I really need to mention the part where you threatened me?”

His fingers move again, lazily stroking the lace between us.

I gasp softly, my head turning side to side against the wall.

“ Don’t ,” I whisper.

Carmine’s lips brush my ear.

“Or what?”

“I’ll scream,” I murmur, my thighs shaking as heat pools wet between them.

He smiles.

“Oh, I know you will.”

His fingers slip beneath the lace of my panties. I choke on another cry as he touches my bare pussy, dragging a slow, torturous circle over my throbbing clit, bringing a whine to my lips.

“In any case,” he murmurs, voice silky and wicked, “you’re my fiancée. What else should I be doing at our engagement party besides taking you away to dark rooms to... corrupt you .”

A quiet, tortured sound escapes my throat, hands gripping his arms as I try to ground myself. Then I gasp sharply when Carmine sinks two thick fingers into me.

I moan, my body arching violently against him as I shudder.

“Popov was going to kill you,” Carmine says calmly as he starts to curl his fingers in and out of me.

Lewd wet sounds fill the bathroom as I writhe under his touch, my thighs trembling and my core clenching over and over.

“Now he won’t. Ergo: I saved your life.”

His fingers ram faster, harder, filling the room with the sounds of my needy, traitorous arousal. His muscles coil against me, a tight growl rumbling in his chest as he leans in and bites my neck sharply, making me cry out.

“ Surely your life is worth at least a million dollars.”

I look away, my pulse hammering.

I’m not so sure about that. But I am sure that he’s about to make me explode all over his hand.

The pressure builds. My body writhes and arches against him as his fingers drive into me over and over, getting ready to push me over the edge. Just as I feel myself spiraling into something I can’t come back from?—

He stops.

I let out a sharp, frustrated breath, body taut, pulse racing.

Carmine chuckles, dark and smug. I stare in a mixture of shame and confusion as he slips his hand from between my thighs and brings it up between us. Heat floods my cheeks when I see the way his fingers glisten stickily in the flickering candlelight.

His eyes lock with mine as he brings his fingers to his mouth, opens his lips, and slowly, deliberately, licks his fingers clean.

Then he leans in one last time

“You belong to me,” he murmurs. “I’d make peace with that if I were you.”

He licks his fingers once more, bringing a fresh wave of heat to my face. Then he turns, unlocks the bathroom door and steps out, letting it close softly behind him.

…Leaving me shaking, breathless, and completely unraveled.

I linger a few more minutes, clutching the edge of the sink, trying to catch my breath, my eyes refusing to meet their own gaze in the mirror in front of me.

Mercifully, the incoming text notification from my phone in my clutch breaks the tension. Turning, I lean against the sink and pull it out of my bag, glancing down at the screen.

Unknown

Blood doesn’t turn on blood, Lyra.

Unknown

You betrayed your family.

It feels like an ice-cold knife plunging into my chest. I stare at the screen as my throat slowly constricts, horror raking its nails down my back.

The entire world goes still, frozen around me. My whole universe is my eyes, reading the screen in my hands with the nightmarish texts.

Unknown

You’ll pay dearly for putting me away, moya dorogaya doch’.

If I could scream, I would. But I can't. Instead, terror just claws at my throat, sending poison coursing through my veins as my reality shatters like glass around me.